


City of Night

by maggiemae815



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Megstiel - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, and only to drive the plot, but only in the very beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemae815/pseuds/maggiemae815
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a quote from QaF (in notes); Castiel is in uncharted territory with the full blown human gig, but he isn't completely oblivious to the important things. Like, say, a profound bond. Dean, having been human his whole life, still manages to be a bit slow on the uptake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You a Lucky Lil' Lady in the City of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the whole Meg stuff in the beginning, but I would rather it be her than an OC because it's already hard enough to write Castiel with her like that; I can't even imagine making my very own character to do the job.
> 
> I you can forgive me for that, I promise some very intense, jealous, possessive, needy Destiel love. Okay?
> 
> Non-beta'd (for now) and probably the start of a series that will contain all of my theories, hopes, dreams, and fears for season 9. So yeah, spoilers up until my headcanon for that oncoming heartache.
> 
> It all worked out well, cause I wanted to write a story to get all of it out of my head, and then I remembered a quote from Queer as Folk and I was like ASKDJAKJ DESTIEL YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE and so I'm mashing it all together.  
> This is gonna be a stand-alone in two parts for now, until I finish Strange as Angels and can dedicate my time to continuing. Second part will be up shortly. Like, hopefully tomorrow, shortly.
> 
> So here is the quote and the story.
> 
>  
> 
> **Brian Kinney: So, when he comes, does he run to the shower, or does he lay there and hold you tight, all wet and sticky?**
> 
>  
> 
> **Michael Novotny: He holds me. All wet and sticky.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Brian Kinney: I guess he does love you.**

Meg finds Castiel before he can reach the bunker, two states away and running on fumes.

“I thought you were dead,” is the first thing that slips from his lips, even as she walks casually into his motel room; Dean had hot-wired him money, painstakingly explaining the process while apologizing over and over for not being able to come get him directly. Sam needs him, Castiel knows that, and he hopes he’d been able to express his gratitude and understanding.

“Turns out my little act of sacrifice for the ‘good of humanity’ made up for a lot of the crap I’ve done. Aren’t the rules funny? Anyway, I come to in my favorite Aunt’s backyard and there’s mayhem galore. Angels were popping in and out, yammering on and on about tablets, and _you_ , and so I started trying to follow them. You know me; I love gossip. So I listened and, with a little help of the trick o‘the demon trade, I found a way back to my body. Someone helped, of course. And by someone I mean an angel still loyal to you. Inias, I believe?”

Castiel eyebrows shoot towards his hairlines even as his stomach knots tightly; thinking about all of his brothers and sisters that had trusted him, despite everything, wandering even more aimless than he on this God forsaken floating rock never failed to make him sick. The Kit Kat he consumed not ten minutes earlier was threatening to make an appearance and sweat began to form on his upper lip.

“And how did you find me?”

“I’ve got my sources. I’m here to show you that there’s perks to this situation, Clarence. A whole different kind of heaven.”

Then her lips are on his as she strips off his jacket, hands carding up through his hair the way his own had done so many years ago.

“Meg,” he whispers, voice shaking with nerves that overwhelm him when a hand lands on his crotch.

“Shh, don’t worry, unicorn. Promise I’ll make it good.”

So he allows it and reciprocates as best he can until they are both naked on the bed and she’s rolling on a condom. His hands shake as he grips her hips while she slowly lowers herself onto his erection; the instant jolt of arousal terrifies and bewilders him even as his mind clouds, sluggishly trying to take in all of the new sensations.

“Feels good, huh?” Meg grits out, tightening her muscles around him every time she rises.

He doesn’t answer verbally but leans in to press his lips softly to hers, hoping it conveys, at the very least, his willingness to find out.

Castiel still isn’t sure exactly what he’s supposed to do and allows her to guide the experience, but something about it feels hollow. She had been his caretaker, yes, and he’d seen glimpse of her near-forgotten humanity strangled inside of her otherwise blackened and warped soul. Yet there was something missing.

The rushing thoughts are drowned out when Meg swivels her hips in a new rhythm, Castiel’s breath stuttering between sounds he had never heard himself make before, and Meg leans forward, smirking lips pressing against his in a sloppy slide.

Then there’s white crowding the edge of his vision and he feels his stomach muscles tensing before shockwaves ricochet through his every synapses and he’s releasing out an almost pained groan, barely registering Meg’s answering moan. Her fluttering insides are almost too much, but eventually she stills and slumps forward against him, sighing as she pulled back with a self satisfied smirk.

“See, Cas. It’s not all bad.” She says, removing the condom and dropping it in the wastebasket before leaning forward. Castiel, for a reason he can’t quite understand, turns his head so her lips lands on his cheek.

She doesn’t react negatively, instead presses her body closer again and puts her head on his shoulder. Her momentum causes him to recline fully against the headboard.

The new human isn’t uncomfortable, not completely. But they were both covered in a layer of sweat that was cooling quickly, as was the wetness between their groins (which were still pressed together, even though he had softened and slipped out) that was beginning to feel intrusive and unclean.

Her deep breaths are hot, stifling puffs against his neck and they precede the pressing of her breasts repeatedly against his chest. When her hips rock against him slightly, the resulting tingle of oversensitivity is the final straw.

“Meg, that was very… thank you, really. But I’d very much like to go shower now.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs dispassionately, but she rolls off of him and pulls the sheet up over her chest. “I’m not surprised.’

Having practically bolted from the bed, Castiel’s hand is pushing open the bathroom door when she registers her words. He turns towards her, having trouble meeting her eyes. Can’t help wishing he’d found something to cover himself with; he suddenly feels absurdly exposed.

“What does that mean?’ The former angel’s words are terse, but Meg simply rolls her eyes.

“Seriously, lose the frown lines. Go take a shower. Then I’ll take a shower. Then we’ll do the whole gut spilling thing. But not literally, since we’re officially stuck in these meatsuits.”

Castiel ponders her words the whole time he washes himself, and when he steps out of the bathroom she’s standing outside the door, naked and clutching one of the ratty motel towels.

“It really is too bad,” she mutters quietly, shooting him a lascivious grin as she shuts the door.

 Unwrapping the towel from his waist, Castiel steps into the new pajama bottoms he purchased with the money Dean had sent. They were comfortable, and he was glad he’d taken the hunter’s advice and requested flannel, as it was protecting him against the chill in the room that accompanied the change of season.

When he pulled another new cotton t-shirt over head, he made a move towards the bed until he saw the displaced blanket and crumpled, dislodged sheets.

He is no longer a virgin; the thought left him feeling slightly bereft and even more wary. Dean had vaguely told him about the version of himself in Zachariah’s future, and while Castiel didn’t see himself falling into bed with random strangers he wonders at how easy it could be, hypothetically, for a person to lose themselves to such, albeit temporary, pleasures.

Though he is grateful it was Meg if it was anyone, there was some sort of unformed desire that had always seemed to go along with the idea of sharing his body. From that failed attempt in the brothel to the short summary of his orgies in the future, Castiel had been sure that physical intimacy would be a lot more intimidating than it was.

“Oh, by the way,” Meg is shouting through the bathroom door, voice raised over the sound of the spray yet still maintaining a careless edge, “Dean called while you were cleaning up.”

Castiel bolts towards his phone; no sooner does he pick it up that it begins ringing.

“Hello, Dean,” he says carefully, wonderfully absentmindedly if his friend can tell what’s happened from his voice alone.

“Meg?!”

“Pardon?”

“First of all, the fuck is she even doing **alive**?? Second, what are _you_ doin' sleepin' with a demon?"

Castiel can hear, from the thickness of Dean’s accent alone, how agitated the man is. His crude words make the former warrior grip the phone a bit tighter.

“Meg is no longer a demon. I –“

“Screw that. You get your ass here, pronto, and ditch that bitch. I don’t care if she helped us against Crowley. What about Yellow Eyes or the hell hounds? Did you forget that your little _girlfriend_ is the reason Jo and Ellen are,” his voice catches, and Castiel finds himself at a loss.

All Castiel can think to say is, “She is not my girlfriend.”

Meg chose that moment step through the door, tossing out, “You’re breakin’ my heart,” as she drops the towel and throws on the clothes she had stripped so hastily earlier.

“Whatever. You figure out the bus?”

“Yes, Dean. I should be arriving around six o’clock tomorrow evening.”

“Good. Call me when you’re at the depot, I’ll come get you.” There is silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of their shared breathing. Then Dean gives a stifled cough. “You better be alone.”

“I will be,” Castiel assures, so distracted with why he feels compelled to apologize for _something_ that he doesn’t realize Dean had already hung up.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we. I may have fibbed a bit to get into your good graces, pun totally intended, since I couldn’t exactly tell you it was Metatron who sent me here.”

Every muscle in his body ( _his_ body, something he would never grow fond of thinking) tenses when he hears the hateful angel’s name.

“Explain,” he growls, hands clenched in to fists at his side until he shoves them into his pockets. Maintaining self control while battling the severity of human emotions was a difficult task on a good day; it would not do to lash out at Meg. Even without his ability to sense a person’s intent, he did not feel she was here to do harm.

“Guy felt bad for using you, said he had been doing his reading on the Winchester’s and came across our ‘moment’, figured we might have a connection. Thought it might be easier to do the whole settling down thing with a chick you already knew.”

‘Connection’. The word, in connotation with Meg, baffles him. He might even go far as to say it was a bothersome sort of feeling. The new human had a distinct affection for her, of course, just the same as he did for Sam and Bobby. And yes, the sex had felt good, but now that she had used the word ‘connection’ he realizes why it had been lacking.

“Meg, while I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, I’m not quite sure I feel –“

“Oh, god, stop. Please. I get it, believe me. Especially after your boyfriend went all growly on me. Sorry about that, by the way.” She doesn’t sound sorry.

“What did you say to Dean?” Castiel asks slowly, and quickly adds, “He is not. My boyfriend, that is.” It had come out easily when he’d said similar words to the man in question, but these are forced out. Castiel ignores the implication. For now.

“Sure, right. I just told him he had almost interrupted our explorations into the more seedy corners of carnal pleasure and that you were busy gearing up for round two.”

“What was his response?”

“A pretty colorful curse I’ll have to try out as soon as possible. Then he hung up.  Alright, look, obviously we aren’t going to ride off into the sunset together, so I’m outta here,” Meg rises from where she’d been splayed out on the blanket. Her hair is still damp, and Castiel notices how clumps are sticking to her neck before she pulls it all back in a messy bun.

“You don’t have to leave,” he offers quietly, feeling his eyes droop precariously low.

Fatigue, as well as hunger, seems to sweep in on him all at once. One second he’ll be completely awake, and the next he’ll be lucky to make it to a soft surface before he is drifting; eyes going out of focus, reflexes slurring like any words he tries to force out.

“Already booked a room, Clarence. I’m not an idiot, and I’ve never been particularly optimistic. Not to mention I wasn’t sure if you snored.” Castiel nods slowly, swaying on his feet. Meg moves forward and presses their lips together with just a bit of force and then she’s opening the door and stepping over the threshold. She gives Castiel one last speculative look. “Good luck.”

“And to you,” he says, stoic and serious, focusing every last bit of energy he has into an expression he hope reads as sincere. Meg gives him a grin and is gone.

Castiel crashes down on top of the blankets and not to a moment too soon, as sleep pulls him under the moment his head hits the pillow.


	2. Or Just Another Lost Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter was inspired by this post-
> 
> theymp(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/43194391492/its-been-really-bothering-me-the-odd-lingering
> 
> So here it is, as promised. Hope this makes up for that gross endeavor I shall never undertake again (Meg=BAD) and yeah. This will be a series... eventually. I really want to finish it before the new season so, wish me luck!
> 
> Non-beta'd (yet, but hopefully soon) so all mistakes are mine, but I hope you still manage to enjoy.

Thanks to experience the bus ride is quite simple, single duffel bag that is now Castiel’s property (possessions are a strange concept to the new human) clutched tightly in his hand as he listens for the sound of the Impala.

The growl of the engine is like music to his ears; the very symbol of coming home after a long, harrowing journey.

The expression on Dean’s face, however, does not lend itself to warm feelings. Cas slides silently onto the smooth leather and tucks his big between his feet before buckling his seatbelt.

A greeting is on the tip of his tongue, but the air in the car feels strangely heavy, his throat tight. There is no music playing, and Dean pulls away from the curb sharply.

Still not a word is spoken, so Castiel lets out a quiet huff of air and watches the scenery go by.

Twenty minutes of silence is all Dean can take, it seems. The fallen angel could feel the tension rising as each mile passed and was glad he’d gotten to know the hunter’s many signs of irritation. It prepared him for the onslaught.

“So just explain to me what the fuck you were thinking. Where did she even come from? We watched Crowley **kill** her.”

“Metatron sent her, as reparation for his heinous betrayal. He seemed to think Meg and I had a connection; apparently her sacrifice gave her a second chance at Heaven.” Castiel took a breath; for some reason, the importance of the information was making it difficult to convey. His mouth was dry and his heart felt as though it would beat through his ribcage. “When she came to me I was… curious, and it was not unpleasant. Actually, it was quite nice. Physically, at least.”

“Good for you,” Dean grumbles, jaw clenched tight enough that his head was starting to ache. It hadn’t quite relaxed since Meg had answered his call the night before.

“It won’t be happening again,” Castiel remarks pointedly. He does not expect Dean’s reaction to be what it is; he jerks sharply off of the road and pulls off of the asphalt, turns off the engine.

“Damn right, it won’t,” Dean agrees, unbuckling his seat belt and turning towards Castiel, bringing his leg up so that the knee bumps into Cas’ thigh. The former angel feels cornered, stunned slightly by Dean’s tone and the gleam in his eyes.

“I’m not quite sure why you are so concerned,” Castiel wonders, but it doesn’t look like Dean hears him.

“Metatron’s trying to make ‘reparations’? Great, ‘cause fixin’ up a body and sending a soul back to Earth all by yourself is simple. Guess we know he’s all powered up; on the other hand, he doesn’t have back up; he might even be trying to earn himself some allies.” He seems to be talking mostly to himself, eyes darting past Castiel to look out of the window for a moment before his lips thin and he nods to himself. Then he’s looking at Castiel again, eyes narrowing as he adopts his ‘serious face’.

“You think it’s smart to do something like that after what Zachariah showed me? Maybe that’s how it all starts!”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean was speaking to him like he was a child.

“We have thwarted that outcome, Dean. If anything, experiencing that with Meg proved to me that, yes, it was quite a transporting feeling,” Dean’s fists clenched and unclenched, and it was his turn to roll his eyes, “but not one I would want to share with just anyone. Intimate relations render a person quite vulnerable.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Dean huffs and shrugs his shoulders, though some of the tension drains from his body.

“And I am still uninterested in drugs.”

“Yeah well, that one’s a no brainer. No way is that happening on my watch.”

“Your watch? I have told you before; I am not your responsibility.” Castiel tries to infuse as much appreciation, if not long suffering exasperation, into those words, all the while feeling something akin to hunger making his stomach dance; but this craving was not for food.

“The hell you’re not. You’re my family. You and Sammy; you’re all I got now. Everything’s falling apart, man, but I don’t give a damn what else happens; I’m gonna make sure Sam gets better, and you don’t lose yourself to anything. Not sex, not booze, and definitely drugs. ‘Cause trust me, I know how easy it is.”

“I do trust you,” Castiel says, voice unwavering, belatedly realizing that his hand is resting on Dean’s chest. He’s not quite sure when it got there, and the hunter either hasn’t noticed or is ignoring it. The feel of the other man’s heart steadily drumming beneath his palm soothes his nerves, until Dean speaks again.

“Why Meg?” Dean asks out of nowhere. “You trust her, too? Enough not to question if she was in league with Metatron.”

“I have my reasons,” Castiel hedges, hand dropping back to his lap as he pushes himself closer to the door. The feeling of being caged in returns full force in the face of Dean’s sneer. “I care for her.”

“Obviously.”

The hunter’s face goes blank and he withdraws, rebooting the engine and returning to the stony silence for the rest of the drive.

Once they’re at the bunker, Castiel watches Dean as he seems to debate something with himself, hesitating in front of the door of his own bedroom before leading Cas back to the one he had recovered in such a short time ago.

“I gotta run an errand; it might take a while. There’s some spaghetti in the fridge, it’s pretty good cold so you can have that if you’re hungry.”

It isn’t until Dean is gone that Castiel realized they’d barely spoken of Sam, and there hadn’t been a single mention of Crowley, or anything, really, outside of his time with Meg.

Two hours was enough time for the frustration to build high enough that Castiel practically tackled Dean when he walked through the door.

“What the hell is your problem?” A paper bag falls from Dean’s arms, filled with what looks like fast food. “Here I am, bringin’ you a burger from the nicest joint in town and you’re attacking me?”

“My problem, Dean Winchester, is that you’re acting like a complete –“

“If you say assbutt –“

A growl escapes Castiel’s throat as he pushes what he thought was his friend with greater force than he meant to, still maintaining strength in Jimmy’s sturdy frame even without his Grace.

Dean’s back hits the wall and he’s watching Castiel carefully, almost calculating. It pains the former angel, because it’s the way Dean looks at a new enemy he hasn’t quite figured out.

“You are treating me as if I have done something wrong, and while that _is_ the case as a whole, what I did with Meg is none of your concern; just as whomever you consent to share your body with is none of mine. I understand you have your own feelings towards her, but she has been nothing but good to me.” Still he was met with that same wary expression. Communicating with humans had always been difficult, but he had learned validating their feelings did wonders to dispelling anger. It is not working so well right now.

“You obviously don’t _understand_ my feelings towards her. Meg has taken so much from me already, and if I ever see the bitch I’ll kill her myself, human or not. I don’t care. She’s not taking anyone else.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes; his heart breaks for this man who has given so much and is constantly asked to give more. “No one will take me from you,” he promises. There is only about a foot separating the two, Castiel’s hand resting automatically on Dean’s shoulder. He isn’t exerting any physical force, but something in his words seems to keep the hunter pinned under his gaze.

“Don’t say shit like that,” Dean grits out, not meeting the eyes of the being who had come back to him, time and again. It’s all too real, and it feels like a culmination of something Dean wasn’t sure Castiel was ready for.

“Why not? I will always do whatever is in my power to remain by your side, Dean.” Determination settles under Cas’ skin; he raises cup Dean’s jaw, mirroring his act of healing in that horrible crypt. It seems to snap the taut wires that are holding the hunter in place and in a blink of an eye their positions are reversed.

Dean takes a long moment to study Castiel’s face, as if searching for signs of changes now that he’s a permanent resident in Jimmy’s vessel. Then their lips are crashing together and Castiel can’t hold back a whimper, clutching tightly to the front of Dean’s jacket to assure that the other man can’t change his mind and leave.

This, _this_ is what had been missing. As he savors the taste of Dean’s lips and tongue, maps out the contours of his teeth, and allows the other man to return to favor, Castiel gives himself a moment of self doubt. Was he belittling what he had shared with Meg by doing this with Dean so quickly?

Warm hands slide under the front of his t-shirt, cutting off that thought as the sensations rush through him.

“ _Dean_ ,” he sighs out, shifting his head to pant hotly against Dean’s cheek. The hunter is pressing open mouth kisses to his jaw, sliding his hands up Cas’ sides before gently pulling him from the wall.

What feel like endless layers of clothes get clumsily removed as Dean walks backwards, eyes piercing into Castiel’s in a way that is both familiar and foreign. As is always the case, Castiel follows where his charge leads.

Dean tugs off Cas’ t-shirt once they reach the younger man’s bedroom and then they’re both in nothing but boxers as they drop onto the bed, lips seeking and finding every bit of skin they can reach.

“This – Is this okay?” Dean whispers, voice steady even as his hands begin to tremble slightly as they skim over Cas’ back, arms, and chest, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

Castiel pulls back slightly and wants to smother every stray piece of doubt Dean has; it’s all so clear to the Graceless Celestial now.

“This is always how it should have been,” he says, hoping his new lover understands. “I didn’t know –“ _my feelings were reciprocated; my feelings were relevant; this was an option_. “I didn’t know,” he repeats.

“Doesn’t matter. It happened; nothin’ we can do now,” Dean says, sounding just a touch bitter.

Castiel wishes he’d kept his mouth shut and leans forward to trail kisses down the neck he’d found himself preoccupied with in the past. Actually, he’d find himself focusing on random parts of Dean’s body at very inopportune times, if only to consider the thought and care he had put into knitting them back together. This man, this simple human being, was so very extraordinary to the age old creature that was Castiel, Angel of Thursday, Soldier of the Lord. Or had been, rather. Either way, he was so very precious.

The thrumming of the pulse beneath Castiel’s lips calls out to a primal part of him that had not existed on Heaven; he nips at the skin, drawing a hiss from Dean.

Warm, calloused hands are back on his body and Castiel lets out of a moan of appreciation at the lines of electricity they seem to be painting over him.

“Mm, maybe there is something I can do,” Dean is saying as he rolls them over to hover above Cas, the words far off and tinny to the former angel’s ears. The press of hips aligns their groins with an addicting friction. Castiel moans again and Dean revels in how responsive he is.

Cas brings their hips together again, and again, until they fall into a lazy rhythm. A contented, simmering pleasure brews between them, and Castiel remembers that Dean said something.

“Hmm?” he thinks he says, lost in the press of Dean’s hot cock against his own, a burning presence even through two layers of cotton.

“I’ll make you feel so good, Cas. Better than anyone else ever could, I swear,” the hunter sounds composed, eyes focused on cataloguing his angel’s every reaction. “My angel.” It slips out on a growl; Castiel’s teeth had returned to his neck and the former angel had given a particularly hard thrust.

The response is immediate.

“No one has ever made me feel as much as you,” Castiel admits, the reverence in his voice causing a shudder to rush through Dean’s body.

In one smooth move Dean is sliding down the bed and removing the last layer covering Castiel. The angel shivers when cold air hits his pulsing erection, only to hiss when hot breathes spill over his length. Eyes snapping open and wondering when they’d fallen closed, Castiel raises his head just in time to see Dean press hot, open mouth kisses up and down his cock.

“Dean.”

“Did she do this for you? Huh?”

“No, no, oooh,” Castiel loses coherency when the head of his dick is sucked into Dean’s mouth and his world narrows to the place where they are connected. Their eyes meet and Castiel is suddenly so close, so close to that precipice he’s only half aware he will fall off of. But he’s ready to take the plunge, every inch disappearing into Dean’s mouth causing a fire to lick at each and every nerve ending.

Cas’ hand drifts to Dean’s head, needing to ground himself because his eyes wouldn’t remain open and his head was spinning and now, now he truly knows what ‘pleasure of the flesh’ means. His skin tingles, his heart is racing, and the only thing he can think besides _more, more, please everything, all of it_ is that he wants to be touching Dean; wants to worship this amazing man giving him **so much**.

“What did she do? Where did she touch you? Tell me, Cas. I gotta know. Need to know what she did so I can wipe it outta your system,” Dean sounds like he swallowed ground glass, and Castiel wants to answer, wants to ask the man not to mark their first time with thoughts of her, wants to tell him that none of it is of import when compared to here and now, but the hand gripping him and sliding wetly along his dick renders him mute. “Makes me crazy, thinkin’ about her touchin’ you.”

“Don’t,” Cas gasps out, “don’t think about it. Just –“

Dean is capturing his mouth, sliding down his own boxer, all the while reaching a hand towards the bedside table in one smooth move.

“No, tell me.”

The demand is followed by a lotion covered hand grabbing both of them and oh, how is Castiel supposed to answer?

Swallowing convulsively, Castiel pushes out some semblance of a sentence.

“She was – on top – nothing like this.”

“Never again,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s ear. He releases his grip, allowing the lotion to ease their renewed slide against one another as he reaches behind himself. Castiel’s eyes grow wide when he hears Dean release a harsh breath, sees his brow pinch in discomfort.

“What are you –“

“Shh. No more talkin’. ‘s okay, c’mon,” Dean soothes. Castiel concedes, knowing Dean well enough to be aware that this man has never done this before. This will be new for both of them.

The love that swells in his chest makes it difficult to breathe for a moment.

The only sounds that fill the room are wet sounds of skin against skin and the squelch of the sloppy kisses Castiel is pressing to Dean’s neck, chest, and shoulders.

Then Dean is raising himself up, gripping Castiel’s dick, and sliding down over the length before man beneath him knows what’s happening.

“ _Dean_.” Awe and reverence and not a little lust are wrapped in that one word as Castiel fights the urge to raise his hips.

“Cas, fuck.”

Dean seats himself fully, lips hovering over Castiel’s in an act of sharing breath that feels just as intimate as their joined bodies; Castiel is the one inside of Dean, and still it somehow feels as if he’s the one being split open.

Castiel brings his hands to Dean’s hips but once the man starts moving above him, he isn’t content to be impassive. He sweeps one up Dean’s abdomen, circling his fingers over one nipple and then the other. Dean shifts and moans, eyes’ locking with Castiel’s before he guides his angel’s other hand to his pre-come slicked and needy dick.

Sweaty skin causes Castiel’s thighs to slip against Dean’s on a down grind, and suddenly the hunter is shuddering and cursing before repeating the action. Castiel speeds up his hand, eyes burning into the man above him, taking in every twist of his lips. The rapt pleasure on the hunter’s face soothes an ache that has been festering inside of Castiel since he first saw the man’s soul.

“With me, Cas. C’mon. C’mon,” Dean is babbling, before the cock in Cas’ hand swells and releases and Dean begins shaking above him.

Castiel’s vision whites when his orgasm rips through him, unaware that he is repeating Dean’s name before the hunter slumps forward.

Castiel allows the momentum to take them to their sides, panted breaths adding to the sweat and spit on each other’s chins and cheeks while they rest together, catching their breaths.

Dean’s grinning shyly at him as he reaches to separate their bodies, the ghost of discomfort back in his brow before his face blurs under Castiel’s gaze.

A yawn escapes Castiel before he can stop it, and for some reason Dean begin chuckling and a moment that could have been too heavy to bear passes.

“You stayin’ in here tonight?” Dean asks even as he pulls the covers over them and shifts closer to Cas.

The former warrior of Heaven responds by pressing up against Dean and tucking his head under the man’s chin.

“If you wish it,” he says, but the arms tightening around Dean’s waist give a message of ‘try and stop me.’

“Good. ‘Cause, uh, I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinking.”

“Mm?”

“Figured, what with our profound bond, this was sort of inevitable.”

“Really?”

“Well, this isn’t how I pictured it, but…”

“But?”

“Look around, man. There’s been a place waiting for you since we got here.”

Castiel pulls his head up and glances around the one; notices for the first time how only one side is decorated to Dean’s tastes.

 _Much of the time, I’d rather be here_. Castiel’s words from that day so long ago have not stopped being true; Dean was the home he hadn’t known was there, but the one he would always chose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hiding again in the strength of Dean’s willing arms.

“Yeah, me too.” Dean rolls onto his back, pulling Castiel to pillow his head on the tattooed chest. Shifts his hips a little. “Never realized how messy it was, bein’ on the receiving end,” he mumbles, words slurring as the post-coital buzz shifts into lethargy.

Castiel can feel the sticky press of Dean’s come between them, some of it even on his own chest. He reaches blindly for his t-shirt, wipes the parts of them he can reach lazily, but finds he barely cares; in fact, it thrills him a bit to share this with Dean.

Dean yanks the shirt from him, presses a soft kiss to his lips, and then settles them back down again.

Cocooned in Dean’s arms, scent, and covered in the evidence of their coupling, Castiel settles in, feeling safer than he has since cradling Dean’s soul to his Grace in the rise from Perdition.

A single word comes to his mind before sleep drags him into the strange world of dreams; **home**.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not possess a single right to these characters so please don't sue me. I make not a dime or penny or even cookie off of these stories. I just make myself sane. Saner. Eh. But yeah. Not mine.


End file.
